Well who would have thought?
Iraq did triumph over Saudi Arabia 1-0 crowning themselves the big cheese in Asian Football. This regional championship is second only to the World Cup and is comparable to the Copa Americas as far as regional football competition is concerned.
It was a sweet victory for Iraq. In a country that is ravaged by war and more so by internal strife (ethnic groups pitted against each other), that they won despite the diversity of the players within the team speaks volume about peaceful coexistence and solidarity. It\’92s a strong argument for tribal unification.
I just hope all the celebrations and the applause from this football crazy region (well except for the Phils in general with our misplaced adoration in basketball) will not be drowned by the din of car bombs and gunfire. Tragic, really.
ooOoo
It pays to be the underdog I think. You play like you\’92ve nothing to lose and everything to gain. There\’92s more pressure on the opponent because, after all, he\’92s the favorite and it would not go down well with the watching fans if he loses.
I was in this situation before, almost a hundred pounds ago. I joined a national age-group tournament and in the first round, was pitted against a national player. Well, he plays in national competition so he\’92s a national player, no? He also happened to be a friend of a friend who asked him to take it easy on me but not to relax either. I\’92ve been known to be an inconsistent player, but when I\’92m in the zone, well, I\’92m sort of spot on.
So he carried me for a few games, you know, like a cat toying with his food. I was only too happy not to go home with bagels so I just enjoyed winning games that he sort of gave to me. After a while, we were like 6-6 so we had to go into tiebreak.
I suddenly had these illusions of grandeur that I could actually perhaps beat this guy and have more than a year\’92s worth of bragging rights when I go back to our place. I suddenly had the thought that \’93Hey, I could probably join the regionals if I beat the guy!”
In our place it\’92s always that ridiculously expensive school that sends players to high school competitions because well, they\’92ve got more advanced training and they can afford to hire professional coaches to train their very few students while our sad little high school doesn\’92t even have a formal tennis team. Our coach was the backboard, a huge wall propped beside our subdivision tennis court where we compete against one another as to who could crack their tennis ball first.
Anyway, I started sweating, probably feeling the pressure of what a victory would catapult me into. As it turned out, I wasn\’92t the only one sweating. The guy at the other side of the court was feeling the heat as well. And who wouldn\’92t? He\’92s the best junior player in our province and I\’92m threatening the status quo.
We kept at it until I got a mini-break, and found myself ahead 6-5 with me serving. Where I got that serve I had no idea. I was just trying to get it in. It did, and it flew directly to his body, jamming his movement. As expected from a national player, he turned sideways and sent a rocketing forehand right where I landed after serving, an almost unreturnable shot. I managed to hit a forehand half-volley and scrambled to a ready position. Before he could hit another blistering return, the linesman shouted. OUT!
I was dismayed. I knew I lost that chance. I felt drained. I then saw the umpire coming down from his post. I was about to protest because the score should still be 6-6. I know I was still leading so I couldn\’92t understand why the referee is acting like the match is over. I looked at my opponent, he sat at the baseline as if all air has gone out of his body. He looked crumpled. I looked at the umpire questioningly. He smiled at me and said \’93You won.\’94
I won. What do you say to that? Against all the laws of probability, I kicked that national player\’92s ass. I wasn\’92t really kicking his ass, more like stroking it, but hey, to the victor comes the spoils, and history is written by those who won the war. And I won.
In my book, I was not only kicking his butt but I was thrashing him all day. I killed his second serves and I served up a storm, I deftly executed passing shots that whizzed by his ear only to kiss the baseline whenever he approaches the net, I drilled cross court backhands on the run, I jumpsmashed like Pete Sampras and glided across the baseline like Roger Federer.
Thinking about it now, it did seem like I played that way.
I got plastered in the next round. My opponent ran roughshod all over me. But it didn\’92t matter. When I returned to our tennis club, it didn\’92t matter that I lost in the second round. There was no talk about it. Everyone was busy toasting me, slapping my back and I had to do my damnedest to stay humble and say that it was just dumb luck. It probably was all just luck.
But fuck it, luck schmluck, I was the underdog, and I won.
Comments on this entry are closed.